love what you eat

Hello Autumn.  You are my fleeting love, my season marked by beauty, breath and change.  Life and death, and life again.  The circle.  I am so happy you're here.      

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A few days before the autumnal equinox, we said goodbye to some friends and the next morning had our first frost.  The frost part is *crazy* because in our country, you usually can't distinguish from a "last spring frost" and "first fall frost".  According to some websites, our consecutive frost-free season is negative 4 days.  But that's a bit extreme.  Last year I counted 72 consecutive frost-free days.  This year, it was 87.  (That's almost 90!!!)  That said, all the farmers around here will be quick to remind you of the year they had 27 consecutive frost-free days.  Oh, I have some things to say about my garden but will save it for a garden-specific post coming soon to a blog near you.

The friends we said goodbye to, well, they weren't supposed to be our friends.  They weren't supposed to be the ones who frolicked in the yard, who followed the kids around, who loitered in front of the door and tried to follow us inside.  

We never named them.  We called them the Red Rangers (their breed), or "the meat chickens".  These photos were taken one day before the end.  Don't take my sentimentality the wrong way: I'm glad they're in the freezer now.  I'm glad I'm down to 10 hens to care for; that we can check one box on the To-Do-Before-Winter list.      

In this one statement, Juniper pretty much sums up how we, as a family, feel about the meat we eat.  (Until now, that has mostly been game and fish that we've hunted and caught.)

Juniper: "This is the one I'm going to eat.  I love her so much."

I would be lying if I said I loved these chickens in the same way I love the graceful, wild lives of mule deer, elk, antelope, moose and trout.  I still prefer the meat of a grouse who grazed in a nearby forest than a chicken raised on Purina Start and Grow.  (At first I was hesitant to let the chickens roam loose in the yard--afraid they would demolish my unfenced garden--but the idea of eating Purina Start and Grow in meat form bothered me so much, I was willing to take the risk just to get some good ol' grass and bugs down their gullets.)  Still, those chickens gave us a face-to-face relationship.  We know those quirky little lives that will feed our own.  I am trying to teach my kids: life balances on the wheel of death.    

The next day, we went to swimming lessons and ran errands.  My husband and I are always (when appropriate) straight-up with our kids; she knew the plan.  When we came home, all that was left was their empty chicken coop and a chopping block with a few buff-colored feathers tacked to it.  Juniper asked, "But mama, what happened to the Red Rangers?"  I said, "Remember how we called them 'the meat chickens'?  Well, we turned them into meat.  They're in the freezer now."  She asked if dad killed them and if they had blood in their bodies.  I told her it's called "butchering" and yes, they had blood.

From the beginning, Juniper's opinion about eating the Red Rangers has been either: "But mama, I don't want to eat them!" Or, "I'm gonna eat them with bar-b-que sauce!!!"  We had clam chowder for dinner that night and pointing to a big chunk of clam she asked, "Is this our chickens?"  I said no, "But do you remember when we went clamming on the coast?"  I love that my kids know (and love!) the lives that feed them.

Juniper: "Do you wanna go see your friends? Here, get a drink first.  There you go, honey."

And then, "Thank you for the meat."

And I say: Thank you for the summer.  For being fun and funny.  For keeping the earwig population down.  For fertilizing our garden.  For being so docile and patient and friendly.  You didn't have to be; you were only meat chickens after all.  Thank you for your lives: thank you for the meat.  

P.S.  Details:

• We raised "Red Rangers" because they were a breed known for their ability to free range, for their "livability", and their even breast-to-leg proportions (i.e. they look and act like a...chicken!).  Nearly everyone we talked to locally about raising meat chickens warned us against cornish crosses (the heavy-breasted bird you find in most grocery stores).  Old ranchers and backyard growers alike told us the cornish crosses are so heavy-breasted you will go out one day and find their legs collapsed underneath them.  Or that they've had a heart attack.  Or heat stroke.  The owner of the feed store told me she tried it one year and was so heartbroken and disgusted that by the time butchering day came, she didn't even want to eat them (or what was left of them).  I am happy to report that the Red Rangers were very healthy, free-ranging, vivacious chickens.      
• Skinned-out (we didn't pluck any or leave them whole), each chicken gave us about 2.5 pounds of meat.  (I'll admit that even though the Red Rangers were known for their "livability", I was nervous about health problems and thus strictly controlled their grain diet.)  I didn't take rigid notes, but I think each chicken cost us about $9--not counting the materials and construction of the chicken tractor/coop.  
• We probably won't raise meat chickens again.  At least not anytime soon.  They ate a lot ($$$) and drank a lot.  (And pooped a lot.  On our patio.)  They were a project and we have a lot of other projects we'd rather tend to in the coming summers.  But who knows?  We could change our minds after a winter of eating fresh, homegrown chicken.  
• Now that they're gone, our hens--the future layers (expecting our first egg around Thanksgiving)--are getting a lot more attention and love : )        

where I go in stormy weather

This parenting gig.

Almost predictably, my family will sail along smooth seas for several months before another storm hits, we take on too much water, the bail bucket gets a hole and the sail itself is ripped off and floating somewhere in the north pacific.  We are cold, sleep deprived, low on food and floating without direction.  

Just when I'm quite certain we're sinking, that we've lost the sail and will forever be floating aimlessly in the north pacific ocean, I read this blog.  The author of Peaceful Parent, Happy Kids, Dr. Laura Markham's website is a balm for my parenting soul.  So when my almost-four year old melts down and yells at the toddler-gym supervisor to GO AWAY YOU BAD GUY! or she calmly tells her good friend, "You have to share otherwise you can't come to my house;" or if I drive a different way home and she breaks down and screams, "NO!  MAMA YOU DRIVE THE OTHER WAY!  GO. THE. OTHER. WAY. NOW!"  Just when I think we have done something horribly wrong (and where did she even get the expression 'bad guy' anyway?), I read her blog.  And I am quickly reminded that four year olds are famous for their bossiness, their bully-like experimentation with power; that they need to be heard and acknowledged, they need empathetic limits and guidance with their emotional tsunamis.  

Whew.  We're not drowning.  We just have some work to do.

Her website is packed with everything we need to patch our sailboat back together and get moving along in--as Juniper would say--this big round world.  

Two weeks into this screaming, tantruming world of an almost-four year old trying to give up naps, she started preschool.  And swimming lessons.  And just like that, we are scheduled again.  (That said, I am quite a fan of unschedules, so we still have a bit of that too.)  

:: First day of preschool.  Juniper was excited.  She jumped right in like an old pro (but covered her face as we entered the building).  Hazel was excited too and apparently thought it was a family outing.  She kept saying, "Me!  Preschool!  Backpack!"  She even hung her backpack on the hook.  Juniper was so engrossed with reading rug that she barely looked my way when I said, See you when you play outside.  This year, she is totally ready.  Last year, with a baby at home, I needed her to go to school.  In hindsight, she was so little!  Not this year.  Now she's a big kid.       

   

Psssst.  I've mentioned Dr. Laura's book before (I was hesitant to do so...parenting is so full of personal preferences...and yet, as they say, It takes a village) and I'm so glad I did based on all the feedback I've heard from you all : )    

august snaps

The fury of summer is winding down, sipping less coffee and more wine.  Here and there, leaves are relaxing into the spectrum of autumn.  This week, preschool begins.  As my last hurrah to summer, here are some--chronological--snaps from August (mind you, summer isn't over 'til the 22nd, dammit):      

:: Yanking dinner from the yard.

:: Me.  In a hammock.  Lying down.  Believe it.  

Juniper: Mama, I love the whole round world. 
Me: Me too.
Juniper: Mama, I'm glad we are both loving this whole round world.

:: Morning love for the meat chickens.

:: Of course we did.

:: Strolling through the neighborhood.

:: Slice of life in my house.  

:: How most (too many?) meals begin.  There are always (too many?) greens.

:: Not the best photograph but I love all it represents: the loud, maraca-banging dance, the felted treasure bags made by my cousin sent by my aunt and worn around the neck(?), Juniper's grandma-made skirt, Hazel and her one shoe....  

:: Smokey, wildfire sunsets marking the apex of summer.

:: My favorite hen, Mama Brahma.  She was named early on, and lives up to it.  She's curious, friendly, a leader.  

:: My favorite helper.

:: Um, another slice of life in my house.

:: Our weekly "nature group".

:: Somewhere in the middle of my crappy 36 hours, Juniper offered me a cookie and a drink (I think it was beer).  

:: I ended the crappy 36 hours with a spontaneous camp-out on the upper deck.  We told stories and counted stars as they appeared until there were too many to count and wide eyes slowly closed.  Magic.   

:: And my man sent us flowers from afar.  The card read: Look in "Animal Physiology," chapter F for Feeding.  My note, addressed to Clove, was tucked inside the pages of that old textbook.  (For more on the history of Clove, click here and here.)    

:: The strawberry patch.  Originally, the wire kept out both the robins and the kids.  They are learning to wait until they're red, but not always.  

:: My new coffee mug.  Purchased directly from the hands that made it, my favorite.  

:: My ride into town.  Since April I've been biking...to playgroup, the post office, the library, the Farmer's Market....  I love the ride.  I add an extra mile and ride past this little airstrip, along a paved bike path through an open, undeveloped neighborhood, down to the river, across the bridge and into town.  On a busy day, 6 to 10 vehicles will pass me before I get to town.  On a slow day, 1 to 3.  

:: Dinner and tomatoes at the Farmer's Market.

:: Playdate on the river (with our young friend L).

:: What they do when I'm not looking.  (It's either this or full-body decorating with the markers.)

:: Weird art project they devised themselves after ransacking the craft shelf.

:: Noticing the drive home.

:: Hazel rediscoverd (and loves) the sling.  Especially on the day she pushed that last canine through.  And I love that I remembered what a win-win a simple sling can be: everyone is happy and I can still cook dinner.    

:: My oldest daughter's propensity to decorate garden weeds.

:: Playgroup at the pool.  (And Hazel's too-big swim diaper, mooning the life-guards.)

:: Playing dress up.

Girl with the Pink Plastic Necklace

:: I asked my man to bring home gifts for the kids.  He couldn't find anything local and avoids Made in China like the plague.  So he brought gifts from the desert: juniper berries, juniper sticks and branches, pinecones, acorns, dried cactus branches, joshua tree seed pods....  His desert loot has brought endless enjoyment.  Now, most of the joshua tree seed pods have been busted open and all the seeds picked out, the acorns are down to their funny little elf-like hats, and the juniper berries have been handled right down to the seed.  

C'est tout.  Au revoir.  Bonne nuit.